preceding love
by Audrie K
Summary: the wammy kids pre kira case. warning: nearxoc, but overall melloxnear
1. Chapter 1

this take place PRE kira case, so this story reveals a side of the whammy kids that nobody has seen thus far. _ooo_. but i must warn you before you begin reading this tragic story... most of it involves an OC. in fact, this whole first chapter is entirely about that OC. SO, melloxnear fans... youre going to have to wait before we get to the juicy stuff. enjoy.

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_"I don't see much underneath my fluttering lashes. I don't find the world very promising. So of course I submerge myself in a world of my own, not even bothering to understand. Because everything here is abstract. When I'm here, I don__'__t need to think. I can just act out on my feelings, and not be hurt."_

Brush stroke by brush stroke, an image begins to form. Cleverly placed splashes of color become a piece of art. A young girl's intelligent gaze sweeps over the painting, carefully calculating the next flick of her brush as if it's a next move in a battle. Her long, wispy light brown hair falls over her shoulders and tickles her ribs. A simple red dress covers her frail body. She rests her feet dressed in black stockings on the legs of the wooden stool.

She pouts and leans forward, adding pink to the mouth of the girl she is painting. The girl in the painting is the picture of perfection. Smiling with wavy blonde hair, pink tinted cheeks, and porcelain white skin. She's standing in a meadow, surrounded by waves of gold and clouds of white. The young artist smiles and signs her name on the bottom left of the canvas. _Aimée__._

Aimée glances to the side with her crystal blue eyes. Roses, sitting in a glass vase adjacent to her stool. Red, red roses. As red as her dress. As red and stained as her very being. She sighs and turns back to her painting.

Suddenly, she hears a loud crash from the other side of the house.

Aimée's face drains. Her blood turns ice cold. She freezes, eyes wide and bones creaking. The crash is followed by a shrieking scream. She stands up from her stool and runs across the hallway. She opens the door abruptly, slamming it against the wall. The shadows are long and menacing over the face that meets her frantic eyes. The large stature and presence of her father looms from across the room. Under him, Aimée sees her mother's figure, battered and broken. His dirty shirt reeked of alcohol and cigarettes, and his evil smirk didn't help his appearance much. Aimée grits her teeth and digs her nails into her fists. She exhales shakily, and musters enough composure to steady her dry voice.

"Welcome back, _dad_." She says voice angry and strained. "What happened? Did one of your whores walk out on you?" she manages a smirk. "…yet again?"

His smile quickly turned into a nasty scowl. He leaves his beaten "wife" and somehow manages to trudge across the room. Barely. She bites her lip and shuts her eyes, as he comes towards her. She hears each step her takes. She can swear the ground is shaking underneath his stomps… or is it just her? His large gruff hand grips her shoulder, and shoves her. Hard. Aimée hits the wall, and falls on the ground. She clutches her side and groans inwardly, spitting some blood on the floor. She tries to stand, but feels a sharp pain in her side and fails miserably. Her world meets the floor again, pain racking her body. He smiles again and pulls her up with a fistful of her hair.

"I'll... take that as a yes..." Aimée spits out, staring him dead in those cold, disgusting eyes.

He lifts his free hand and punches Aimée in her shoulder. The sheer force knocked the wind out of her. He may be a useless bastard, but he sure is strong. The sharp, pang of pain was almost too much to bear. It was obvious he had broken something. She yells out in pain. He raises his arm yet again, to hit her. Aimée closes her eyes, wishing. Wishing for her mother's safety. For her father's demise. For her own peace.

But, suddenly, she feels herself hit the floor. Her eyes open to nothing but blurriness. She smelt the iron of blood. Her heart thumps inside her chest, her throbbing head spinning. Dizzily she sits up and focuses. She looks up and sees her father's chest, bloody and gushing. His eyes widen. Aimée sees something she's never seen before. Fear in his eyes. He falls to the ground with a loud thump, revealing Aimée's mother behind him, her frail hands wielding a gun. Her eyes are wild, and she's shaking like crazy.

"I... I had to do it... Aimée... she..." She whispers. Her black hair is thin and messy, and her skin dull and uncolored. Her face is cracked and broken from years of abuse.

Aimée looks up at her from the floor in shock. "Mama..."

"...You… stupid, fucking whore...!" The bleeding drunk breathes from the floor, obviously losing his fight against the loss of blood. He swipes his leg, knocking Aimée's mother down. She falls over, and the gun slides across the floor. Panting, he grabs the gun. Her eyes widen with fear at the sight. She tries to get up frantically. He smiles one last nasty smile. He points the gun at her, pulling the trigger.

"NO!" Aimée practically shrieks as she reaches out and tries to stop him. But she is too late.

The gunshot sounds through the air, followed by the sound of her mother hitting the ground. Aimée's father laughs weakly, letting the gun fall from his hand. Aimée scrambles across the floor, pushing his now lifeless body aside.

"Mama!" She kneels by her side, her mother's light blue eyes that matched Aimée's beginning to dim. "Please don't die! You can't!" she holds her mother's hand, which is beginning to feel colder, in her own. "Don't die!" Aimée repeats.

"I'm.. I'm so sorry…" Her mother whispers as tilts her head just enough to see her daughter's face, blood trickling from her mouth. "Can you… be happy? Please… Be what I never could be. You're smart, Aimée. You're beautiful. You're fearless. You have a chance to find happiness." Aimée could see the sincerity in her eyes, as she looks beyond her to something unseen. Her mother's eyes shimmer at the sight, as tears overflow to the brim of her lashes. "Find it. Grab hold of it. Never, ever let go."

Aimée doubles over, her forehead against the ground, and vomits. Her side hurt. Her shoulder hurt. Her head hurt. But above all, her heart hurt. She wipes her mouth and hugs her mother, sobbing frantically. Desperately. "You... You can't leave me!" she wets her mother's sweater with her tears. Aimée feels her weak arms brush against her shoulders.

"Hey…" Her mother says in a voice quieter than a whisper. "Do you know? I really love you."

Aimée nods, her face smothered in the wool of her sweater.

"You don't need to cry anymore." And she breathes her last.

Aiméewhimpers as the bloody hands of her mother fall away from her shoulders, lifeless and cold. She looks at her mother's face, a mirror image of her own. Her eyes are empty except for tears. Her mouth was opened slightly, her once minty breathe now smelling like iron blood. She watched as one single tear slipped down from her mother's cheek onto the bloody carpet beneath her.

She falls onto the floor next to her mother's corpse, still crying hysterically. The walls are painted with blood. They are almost as red as the roses down the hall. Almost as red as Aimée's soul. Almost.

did you liiike? well, dont judge just yet! theres more to come~ tell me what you thought of our OC, Aimee^^


	2. Chapter 2

I know this is like a huge fluke, but I'm going to be switching to past tense now _ I'm not sorry for this inconvenience. enjoy~

Insanity. That was the only word fit to describe Aimée 's state for the next few hours. She screamed. She cried. She howled. She ripped out her hair. She raked her fingernails deep into her skin. She wanted death. She never wanted it so much in her entire life. She shook like hell. Like a storm had come over her. She barely managed to close her mother's eyes. She wiped away her tears and brushed her hair out of her face. Aimée fumbled as she took off the silver cross from around her mother's dry neck, crying and sputtering as she did so. She ran out of there as fast as she could, leaving everything behind in her dust.

She slammed the door to her bedroom and locked it. She threw the crucifix across the room and looked down at her clothes, stained with blood. She let out a dry sob and clawed at them, ripping them off. Dirty. Stained. Tainted. Just like she was. She looked around, her eyes still wide and red from crying. Even now, everything was still red. It was like everything had stopped. The world played in slow motion. She screamed and threw a chair into her wall. She ripped picture frames off the wall and flung them at the ground. She tore apart books and the rest of her belongings. She punched her mirror, sending hundreds of shards of glass to cover the floor. Her feet burned with cuts, fresh blood dripping off her heel. She looked around her room, which was now a complete and utter mess. Just like her life.

She panted hard. Her throat was dry. She winced at every breath she took. She took a few steps backwards and climbed onto her bed. She rolled into a ball, hugging her knees. Then she cried. Like she had never cried before. She cried until her eyes were swollen, until her throat was sore, up until she couldn't cry anymore. Before her mental awareness passed out, Aimée looked down at the floor next to her bed and stared at the picture she had been painting before. The girl's smile, a pure portrayal of innocence, was now splattered in blood.

Four or five hours later, Aimée laid spread out in her bed. Her half-lidded eyes followed the blades of her fan as they spun round and round. Her cheeks were covered in dry tears. Her head began to clear up. She began to make sense of what happened. She remembered what her mother had told her. She felt her usual composure return to her bones.

Aimée felt another tear as it began to roll down her cheek. She brushed it away and sat up. She reached down on the floor and picked up a phone she had flung during her rampage earlier. Aimée dialed a number she knew by heart. No, not 911. A number her mother told her was more important and trustworthy than the police. Aimée didn't know exactly who it was, but her mother told her to trust them with her life. So she called them. Whoever they were. The phone rang twice before "they" answered. Apparently "they" is a really old sounding man, who spoke very politely and respectfully.

"Hello, good evening. How may I assist you today?" The voice asked from across the line.

"Hello. Can you help me?" Aimée asked, her voice quiet.

"Who is this, might I ask?"

"My name is Aimée… My mother told me to call this number in case something ever happened to her."

The other line went silent for a few seconds before the man continued speaking. "Memories take us back." he said simply, then remained quiet once more.

She knew this. Her mother said it all the time when she was little. Back when they were happy. "Memories take us back," she repeated, sure of herself. "Dreams take us forward."

The line remained silent once again. A few moments later another voice began to speak, one much more quiet and inquisitive. It was monotone too, really constant. Like the moon's reflection on a lake at midnight. Soothing. But, at the same time, he spoke as if his words had an unspoken but strong shadow of confidence behind them.

"Miss Aimée , we will be arriving at your house shortly. To be more exact, four minutes and thirty two point six seconds. Is that all right?"

Aimée replied with a calm yes, as if this sort of thing happened often and hung up. She hugged her knees to her chest and stared at her toes. After precisely two minutes and thirty two point six seconds, she got up and changed out of her shredded clothes. Digging through the mess of her room, she found some clothes and changed into them. Fresh clothes made her feel a little better. An oversized sweater against her skin hid her from the chills of the late night. She slipped her socked feet into some sneakers and tied the laces. She walked across her room and reached into a pile of shredded pillows. She pulled out her mother's crucifix and placed it around her neck.

When exactly four minutes and thirty two point six seconds since the phone call passed, she heard loud noises as the front door was broken down followed by footsteps. A few seconds later she heard her lock being picked and a young man walked in, probably in his early twenties. He had a plain white shirt and loose jeans on. His hair was spiky and dark. The thing that caught Aimée 's attention the most was his eyes. They were large and round, somewhat empty. You could stare into them forever. He had a sharp nose and narrow features. He stood hunched over, chewing on his thumb nail. He closed the door behind him, looked at her and smiled. "Hello, miss Aimée."

Aimée nodded, acknowledging him.

He cocked his head to one side. "Do you not wish to speak?" His owl-like eyes were fixed upon her. "Are you in shock?"

"No, I'm not. I watched. I saw. I learned. And I accepted it."

He smirked lightly, obviously amused. His voice, however, still displayed no emotion at all. "Are you absolutely sure? After experiencing such a traumatizing experience, it'd be understandable if you would like to take some time to-"

"Yes, I'm sure. I'm perfectly capable of speaking to you, whoever you might be." Aimée stared him dead in the eye, as emotionless as he was.

He blinked. "Oh, I am terribly sorry. I completely forgot to introduce myself. Please call me L. It's good to make your acquaintance."

"Pleased to meet you." Aimée said, unfazed. "It goes without saying you already know who I am."

"Aimée… French for '_loved_.'" He looked at her inquisitively. "Your mother must have really loved you."

She quietly looked down before meeting L's gaze again. "Tell me, what will happen now?"

"Yes, well, first things first," L said as he tapped his chin with his index finger. "Our people will take your parents and provide them with a proper resting place. Then we will try and find a place to put you." L continued to study her.

Aimée exhaled softly. "Okay, thanks." She began to walk out the room, but was stopped by a light grip on her arm. She looked back at L. "Yes?"

He stayed quiet for few moments, doing nothing but observe her. The way she blinked, the way she moved, the way she breathed. All she did in turn was not fail to meet his gaze.

"I think I may have a place for you to stay." He murmured. Aimée could get lost in his stare.

"Really?" She talked as if she could care less. "Where?"

L smiled. "You'll see." he said before walking out of her room. After taking a few steps, he looked back to see Lily staring at him. "Well? Are you coming?" she continued to stare for a few more moments before nodding slowly and falling into line behind him.

They walked through the living room, but to Aimée's surprise there weren't any blood or dead bodies anywhere. L continued to walk out the front door. Aimée held her mother's crucifix in her palm and tugged slightly on the chain attached to her neck. She looked down numbly at it before taking a deep breath and looking straight ahead. L walked into a long black limo. After seating himself and pulling his knees up to his chest, he gestured her in. Lily nodded and climbed in.

She sat down on the seat and frowned, looking quite unsatisfied.

"Is anything the matter, Miss Aimée?" L questioned her, his thumb pushing up his upper lip as he looked at her.

She bounced up and down on the cushioned seat. "I'm uncomfortable." she looks up at L expectantly.

L made a confused face and pouted, scratching his head. "These are handcrafted leather seats from the Swiss Alps! They even have the world's softest cushions." L bounces up and down along with her, staying in his usual sitting position. "See?"

"Maybe it's just that I'm used to sitting on wooden stools, rather than the world's softest cushion and Swiss Alps leather." Aimée bounced up a little bit higher and stopped, thinking to herself. "Or maybe it's the position!" suddenly she flipped upside down, her head hanging off the edge of the seat with her hair brushing against the ground, and her boots dangling outside of the window.

L stared at her for a few moments. "Do you feel more comfortable sitting that way?"

She was laughing to herself. "Huh? ...oh, yes. I suppose. "

He smiled.

"So when are you going to tell me where we're going?" She wondered.

"Wammy's House of Gifted Children." L stated, his unnerving eyes looking out the window. "What is taking so long?"

Aimée's eyes widened and she sat up, gaping at him. "Are you serious? But… isn't Wammy's some high class place where only genius kids can get into? I've heard rumors, but…"

L looked back at her and smiled. "No, not quite. It is actually an orphanage. But besides that, it's also somewhat of a sanctuary where special children come and study. You spoke to the founder earlier on the phone. And by special children, I am referring to children who have a higher intellect or learning ability. Like you." He pointed at Aimée.

She continued to stare at him in disbelief. "What? _Me? _What's so special about me?"

"You are Wammy material. That I am sure of."

Aimée looked at him for a few more seconds, processing what he just said. She looked down at the floor. "Who are you? Why are you doing this? How do you even know my mother?" She asked, her tone quiet.

"She was once an old friend of mine." That was all that he said. She didn't push it.

A few minutes passed until an older man walked to the front of the limo and sat in the driver's seat. "Hello, miss Aimée. My name is Watari." He said as he turned around and tipped his hat in her direction.

"Hello. Pleased to meet you." Aimée smiled.

"Well miss Aimée, we have some business to attend to it seems." L murmured. By the time Aimée looked from Watari to him he was holding onto the corner of a clipboard, dangling from his fingertips. "First, when is your real birthday?"

"July 17, 1991." Aimée said.

"Are you aware of the date today?" L asked.

"Yes. It is January 18, 2001."

"How did your parents pass away?"

"My father had come home drunk. He was beating my mother until I stepped in, in which case he began to come after me. My mother got hold of a gun and shot him. Then he took the gun and shot her. They both died of blood loss." Aimée answered without hesitation.

"...excellent. Your story matches up with this report." L mumbled under his breath. "And where were you after all of this happened? You called us five hours after they had died, after all."

Aimée shot him a look. She had way to much pride to admit she was bawling her eyes out.

"...Sorry. Sorry. No need to be glaring at people." L said as he grabbed a large sugar cookie from his pocket and took a big bite from it. Sugar crumbs covered his mouth and clothes. "Now that we are done with this portion of the questions, I will explain the rules of Wammy's House."

Aimée looked at him questioningly. "That's it? That's all the questions you're going to ask me concerning their death?"

He looked into her eyes. "Yes. I can handle the remaining questions. They are unnecessary."

Aimée attempted to shrug, but she immediately felt pain and winced. Noticing the pain she was in, L quickly moved to the other side of her. He quickly grasped her arm, moved it and pushed it, popping it back into the socket. He looked at her to see if she was in pain, but she was staring at him, a blank look on her face.

"…Didn't that hurt?"

"Of course it did." Aimée replied, her expression emotionless.

L smiled. This was going to be interesting.

"Okay, onto the next matter of business..." he pulled out the clipboard once more and a big cupcake. He took a bite from the cupcake and said something undistinguishable. Well, it sounded like this. "mrrrphmihhyghhhhyfffffff. "

"uh... What was that?" Aimée asks.

"mrrphh... I sred... If shu come shtoo wammysh... Shu needsh a new name." L said as he finished his giant cupcake and pulled out some lychee cups. "An alias if you will. -slurp- I was thinking -slurp- about the name -lots and lots of slurping- Luna. -slurp slurp.- do you mind that name?" L asked as he licked his fingers.

"No, actually. I like the name Luna very much." Aimé- ahem- Luna smiled. L smiled back.

"Very well. Just remember do not tell anybody your real name. Understood?" L said as he took out a box of Hello Panda.

"Yessiree." Luna said as she saluted.

"-crunch- what subjects -crunch- are you interested -crunch- in learning? - crunch crunchity crunch crunch-" L snacked on his hello panda.

She thought to herself as she looked out the window. "I know how to speak English, French, and Japanese fluently… I would like to learn algebra and maybe attend an art class. Oh, and I love to read." Luna's mood brightened even more at the idea. "Mother always wanted to get me this kind of education." She looked back to him. "Thank you."

L looked deeply into her light blue eyes, as light as a morning in the winter. They held each other's gaze for a few moments, as if they were afraid to drop it. "You're welcome."

He looked away. She was different than people he was used to. Purer, maybe. She had definitely gotten that from her mother. He thought back to when he knew her. Not too long ago. He immediately remembered her face; he never forgot anybody's face, after all. A kind smile, opposed to the usual fake ones he saw every day. Amidst his thoughts, he heard Luna's voice.

"What?" He looked to her, but realized she was just singing to herself. But then he realized what she was singing. She was reciting the Quran, translated into French, backwards… _in song_. She was indeed a genius, and she didn't even realize it. He pulled on a lock of her hair and she looked up at him.

"Yes?" Luna asked as she looked up with her blue eyes.

"I was just wondering if you would like some snacks or a beverage. We have a wide selection." L murmured as he opened a small black mini fridge. It was chock full of snacks, sweets, chocolate, you name it. Candies from all over the world were in that fridge.

Luna stared at the fridge, unimpressed. "Oh, no thank you." and resumes her "Italian Quran Backwards" song.

L sighed. "Apparently only Mello and I share the need for sweets. And Matt, if you count his tootsie pops. Although i doubt he will ever find out how many licks it takes to get to the center of a tootsie pop, because he sucks on his." He mumbled under his breath. (L knows specifically how many licks to get to the center of a tootsie pop.) L began to close the fridge, when he felt a slim hand with an iron clad grip prevent him from doing so. Luna looked at the fridge like she was a lion and it was a piece of meat.

"Do you have any… lollipops?"

L stared at her with his owl eyes. "Yes. Any particular flavor?"

"Milk strawberry swirl, please." Luna sat up and eagerly held out her hands.

"Very well." L opened the refrigerator and searched for the lollipop. After a few moments he pulled out a small lollipop and handed it to Luna.

Luna grabbed it and ripped off the wrapper. She stuck it in her mouth and a loud crunching sound could be heard. A few seconds later she pulled out the paper stick, with small bits of pink candy still stuck to it. "Um, L… Do you have any... larger ones?" Luna asked, her eyes wide and eager.

L eyed her warily. "Yes... I'm sure I do." He reached back into the mini fridge. He pulled out a large lollipop, approximately a foot in diameter. He dropped the colossal lollipop in her expectant hands. She gasped in amazement.

Luna flipped upside down again and ate her lollipop without saying anything for the rest of the drive. L just observed her. By the time they arrived at Wammy's house, she was finished and was busily licking her fingers. Luna felt the limo turning and slowly coming to a stop. She heard the brakes and sat up, still licking her fingers. L pulled on a lock of her hair again and she looked at him. "Yes?"

L held out a pink moist wipes box, with one sticking out of the top. Luna nodded before taking one and wiping her hands thoroughly. The door opened and Luna saw Watari, holding the door open for them to walk out. She looked at L. "Lady's first." L murmured. Luna nodded and took a step outside.

She squinted as her eyes adjusted from the dimly lit limo to the bright morning light. She saw a big antique looking building, surrounded by large trees. It had somewhat of a nostalgic feeling around it. Behind her, L climbed out of the limo. He was still hunched over like earlier, his hands shoved down his jean pockets. He saw the building and smiled, something almost like happiness glimmering in his eyes.

"Welcome to Wammy's."

tell me what you thiiinkk~ ^^ also big thanks to pacific diddles whos always so supportive of me writing this!3


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